


Resurrected Ashes

by cloudcloakedwords



Category: Nikolai Series - Leigh Bardugo, The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-07-30 23:50:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20105680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudcloakedwords/pseuds/cloudcloakedwords
Summary: Zoya is trying to deal with her growing feelings for Nikolai. Alina has finally settled into a life with Mal. A familiar darkness brought back to life sends all of their lives careening into an abyss.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a sucker for Zoyalai, and there just isn't enough Zoyalai fanfiction out there! So I thought I would try my hand at writing one of my favorite couples. I'm also including Malina (yes, yes, I know that everyone hates this ship, but it's canon...at least for now. Darkles is also canonly back, so who knows what'll happen?) Hopefully, this fic will actually have a plot and won't be too badly written. Hope you guys enjoy this!

“Let go.”

“I will not!”

“Saints, Nikolai, if you don’t let go, I swear, I will send this letter with your hand still attached to it.”

Suddenly, the dark blue envelope was securely within her grasp, and Nikolai hastily clutched his hand to his chest. Zoya smirked and was met with a scowl.

“You do realize that I outrank you, right? I’m still the king, in case you’ve forgotten,” he sniped, straightening his teal coat and standing up. Zoya and Genya had both tried to persuade him to trade the color for something more mature, more befitting of a king, but to no avail. The most they had been able to do was the removal of the ridiculous ruffles he had worn during his time as Sturmhond. 

“As if you’d ever let anyone forget it,” she muttered under her breath, “and go pack. I’m not putting up with your whining about not having enough clean shirts at Keramzin.”

A strong gust of wind shoved him out of his chair, and Zoya left the room smirking, blue kefta swishing in her wake. She let the gilded door slam behind her for good measure, and dropped the letter off with a trusted messenger before wandering into the palace gardens for a walk. A walk would do her some good, and she could cut through the garden to head towards the Little Palace. 

Finally, a quiet moment, Zoya thought. She absentmindedly kicked at a pebble on the ground, and watched it skittle over the gravel path and into the hedges that lined the path. There had hardly been a quiet moment since they’ve returned from the Fold—meetings and advisors and engagement details had filled up both her and Nikolai’s lives. Not to mention the Darkling and Isaak’s death. 

She twisted the scaled amplifier on her wrist; at times like this, Zoya couldn’t help but wish that Juris was by her side. You killed him, the accusing voice in her said. She tried to shove it back down, just like she had for these past months, but an echo of it still slithered out from the cracks in herself. Zoya heard it everywhere now: the disappointed voices of the Grisha she was supposed to be training, the arguments with Nikolai, and especially from the figure shrouded in darkness all the way down in the deepest dungeons of Os Alta. She had taken to going down there to visit Yuri, or rather, the Darkling, every few days to see her old mentor. He wasn’t even much of a mentor, she thought, more like a revered deity. Perhaps once she would have gone to the same lengths as Yuri did—once, a very long time ago. 

Now, she felt nothing but disdain for religion. Elizaveta didn’t even deserve the title of a saint, the scheming wasp. Grigori was dead. Zoya herself now wore old Juris’ scales on her wrists. And Alina running an orphanage with the love of her life. And you’re the only one left alone, the voice whispers again. David and Genya were disgustingly in love, all beautiful Fabrikator-made jewelry and secret smiles. Saints, Tamar and Nadia were married. 

And here she was, alone, planning her best friend’s wedding to a woman he didn’t love. 

She snarled in frustration, her fists curling at her sides and summoning a brutal gust of wind to wrench a clump of weeds out of the otherwise immaculate lawn. The soft sound of footsteps had her releasing them into an untidy heap on the path, and Zoya immediately morphed her expression into a calm mask—there was enough going on in Os Alta, and the last thing she needed was for some gardener to come wandering in to find the General of Ravka’s Second Army losing it. She had no patience to deal with something like that right now.

“Zoya?” 

She inwardly cursed. Saints, my luck can’t get any worse. Forcing a smile, Zoya turned to greet Ehri. With distaste, she noticed that she was still wearing one of her formal Shu dresses—something much too ostentatious for everyday wear.

“Princess.”

Ehri inclined her head in acknowledgment, and Zoya tried to reel in the tightening in her chest when she glimpsed a glint of red in Ehri’s ebony hair. It was a hairpin that Nikolai had given Ehri after she had reluctantly accepted his proposal. Zoya knew enough about the Lantsov’s to know that this was one of their prized family jewels, traditionally passed onto the next queen, and it just didn’t seem right adorning the head of someone who didn’t even want to rule the Ravkan people. 

Zoya forced herself to give a cordial nod.  
She had no intention of becoming friends with this girl, but she had to at least tolerate her presence.Palpable tension accompanied them, and Zoya ground her teeth as she was forced to divert her path from the direction of the Little Palace. Ehri had only recently been given permission to roam the palace grounds because Nikolai had insisted on his fiancé being able to come and go as she pleased, but the Grisha sanctuary was far too important to let a foreign bride of questionable leanings venture in. 

Beside her, she could sense Ehri fidgeting. Good, she thought, let her fidget. Just to set her even more on edge, Zoya brought a sudden cold breeze whipping towards them. 

“Where are you going?” A sense of grudging respect for Ehri whisked through Zoya; she had to admit that Ehri was trying to make the best out of an admittedly strenuous situation. She had made little effort to hide her dislike for Ehri, only veiling it with the barest decorum, and yet the Shu princess was still trying to ease tensions. 

No wonder her people loved her so. It’s getting harder to hate her with every encounter. 

“Just heading to the palace,” Zoya winced the moment the poorly-constructed lie slipped out of her mouth. Ehri was no fool, and anyone could tell that the direction Zoya had just come from was the palace, looming in the distance. But Ehri merely raised an eyebrow in response to her curt response. They were silent for the rest of the trek back, with Zoya unable to quell the uneasiness she felt at returning with Ehri.

_________

It was still dark outside when she climbed out of bed. Alina liked to rise before a single shard of light shines through the many windows of this house; it was easier that way, to not remember what she had lost, to forget the power that had once been in her grasp. But that hadn’t been enough for me. Or for him. 

The soft click of the front door downstairs roused her from pointless thoughts. She shoved her bare feet into the furry slippers at the foot of the bed, wrapped her woolen robe around her tightly, and went down the stairs.

Keramzin after the war had been a swathe of wilting fields and scattered ashes. Now, with the generous pension paid to them from the Ravkan treasury in recognition for their wartime services (and a little extra gold from Nikolai), they had rebuilt Duke Keramsov’s house and had made sure to fill it with walls doused with colors and bright windows: a place where children could laugh and run and sing despite the horrors they had been through. The Darkling’s armies had wormed their way through the Ravkan countryside and left orphans behind by the hundreds; it had been a plague which scarred even the survivors.

A silhouette crouched before the softly burning fireplace, stoking the fire. A worn leather satchel rested on the large wooden table, and she spied the compass and kindling inside. Alina was once again reminded that she was not the only person in this house that had lost something—that Mal must have been suffering just as much as she was. After all, he had been one with the wild since his childhood, and now, he was just a lost human wandering them, trying to make sense of the soil and teeming life inside that the knowledge of had once come as easily as breathing to him.

Mal rose and wrapped Alina in a hug. A soft kiss pressed to her forehead made her relish the intimacy of this moment because before long, the children will be up and running about, wreaking havoc, and the two of them will have to make sure there aren’t any tears before breakfast. However, she realized that Mal was still in his heavy winter coat, and she pulled away from him and frowned at the snow he had tracked in. 

Mal spoke before she could scold him, “I know, I’ll clean it up. But you might want to open this first. It was the only thing in our mailbox this morning.” 

He reached into his coat pocket and drew out a thick, dark blue envelope with a golden double-eagle crest gracing the flap. Alina groaned and flipped it over.

“This had better not be another one complaining about his advisors. Or attempting to list all the qualities of Ehri that make her a suitable queen.”

“It had better not be, otherwise I’m rescinding the ‘you’re welcome to send us mail anytime’ agreement,” Mal grinned at the elegant script with far too many flourishes that the envelope is addressed in.

Nikolai might have bene a dramatic idiot, but the truth was that Ravka had never been more prosperous, and Keramzin had never seen such a wealth of food. A knife is pressed into her hand—a small blade that Mal has taken to carrying with him wherever he goes—and she carefully slits the navy envelope open.

The letter inside was written in two different handwritings: the one on the envelope, and another, spikier hand, as if the pen had been forcefully stabbed into the paper. There were lines that had been half-crossed out, and the smeared inkblots between the paragraphs betrayed signs of a struggle. Alina’s eyes raked across the page, and Mal peered over her shoulder, arms coming to wrap around her waist.

_My dearest friends,_

_This is a very important question, one that is highly crucial to the stability and happiness of our beloved Ravka: what do you think of my new stationery? I wanted to go with golden envelopes, but Zoya shot me down. In front of my whole court, no less! How am I supposed to keep the semblance of a respected, widely-venerated monarch if my general shows such flagrant displays of disrespect? Other than that, Os Alta is splendid. I think Princess Ehri is warming—_

_This is Zoya. Since that idiot won’t get to the point, I will. There’s no easy way to say this. He’s back. He’s not dead. It’s too hard to explain on paper, so we’ll be paying a visit to you within the next two days.. Get a room with sturdy windows ready and some—_

_Ah, here we go. Anyways, he won’t be coming with us, of course, but we’ll bring David and Genya. David’s come up with a sedative that can knock him out to up to a day at a time, so we’ll have guards administer that to him nightly. Genya is dying to see you, Alina, and be warned, she’s packed a lot of—_

_We’ve got to go. Get some rooms ready and be prepared. Excuse me before I go slug the venerated Korol Rezni in the face. See you in two days._

_Nikolai and Zoya_

The letter left Alina’s grip, and floated down to the floor far too softly for something that had left both of them stricken. It looked so tiny down on the wooden planks, but it had set Alina’s heart pounding. Suddenly, the shadows that the fire casts seemed too dark, too alive, all dancing figures that made her throat close up. Mal’s warmth disappeared as he took a step back, eyes sweeping her face. 

Alina sank into a chair at the table. She seemed to sag, and her shoulders took on a hunch that befitted someone whose age matches her snow-white hair. Her breaths shouldn’t have been this irregular, and there shouldn’t be a tremor in her hand

She slowly met Mal’s gaze. His eyes were a dark, stony blue: a little cracked, and she had no doubt that he saw that same look in hers. They were broken, and they were healing, and now they were about to be broken again.

When Alina found the strength to speak, they were barely words, more like breathy syllables hanging onto each other for dear life, “He’s back.”

Something jumped in her, something familiar that dwelled in the hole that her powers had left behind. She shoved it down, a flicker of fear running through her. But not fear of Aleksander. Fear of what she felt. Was it wrong of me to have mourned him?

Mal nodded once, his mouth set in a grim line. An uneasiness stirred insider her—she knew that his nod wasn’t a response to her thoughts, but she couldn’t help feel that it ought to have been. 

She knew that he had seen too much to even consider the foolish hope that the he their friends were referring too was not the he that they were thinking of. The _he_ that brought crawling shadows into Alina’s nightmares, the _he_ that jerked Mal awake at night in a cold sweat, the _he_ that they had seen disappear into flames next to a disguised corpse on a pyre of Grisha fire. But she still referred to the _he_ with a name in her thoughts, on the days where she sat in the sun and still shivered, the days where she would imagine the sunlight dancing through the windows had leapt from her fingertips, the days where she reached down into her depths and was met with an aching pit.

Despite the roaring fire behind them, Alina’s hands shivered, and she ran a trembling finger over her collarbone, where the white line had faded from sight. Some nights, she still felt the heavy weight of Morosova’s collar resting on her neck. Mal crouched in front of her, fingers encircling her wrist where the sea whip’s fetter had once rested, and Alina loosed a breath. 

“I guess we’d better start preparing the guest rooms then,” whispered Alina. He frowned at her, brows furrowed, mouth open to speak, but a creak from a room upstairs made them both start. 

Hurriedly, Alina snatched up the letter and shoved it into Mal’s leather satchel, and he crumpled up the envelope lying discarded on the table and chucked it into the fireplace. The flames crackled and grew, and soon, the envelope was nothing more than a pile of black soot.


	2. Chapter 2

Alina cursed the promptness of her friends. Sillhouettes had emerge at the crack of dawn of the three Grisha riding on horseback, followed by a small carriage.

“Six soldiers with them today,” Mal observed, leaning on the windowsill. He was trying to get a good look at their friends with what little light the sun provided. It had just begun to peek out from above the horizon, and the roads were still dappled with shadows. Alina gave a noncommittal grunt in response.

A quick glance at the clock hanging above the fireplace had Alina muttering, “Why do they always have to be so on time? It’s only five in the morning.”

She was frantically helping the last of the children tie his shoelaces. Leo, barely reaching past Alina’s waist, had been woken up by the thundering hooves in the distance. He was one of their most recent charges and was still unfamiliar with the other children, shying away when the eldest, Sonya, had offered to tie his laces for him. 

“Go sit with the others. Mal and I will be right back,” she said, straightening up and steering Leo in the direction of the dining table. Sonya was already cutting apart the loaves of bread sitting on the table, and the crackling of the crusts eclipsed the excited murmurs of the children. The house was silent otherwise, with most of the staff having not yet arrived. 

Only Marya, the math teacher, stood with her arms folded neatly behind her back and her lips pursed—the picture of discipline. Alina had hoped that she would catch onto her and Mal’s subtle hints that she take a day or two off, in order to keep her away from Keramzin for the duration of the visit, but she had remained adamant in her position. Mal had been worried that a disagreement between Marya and Zoya, similar to the one that had taken place during the last feast of Sankt Nikolai. It had turned out that the conservative country-side teacher did not share Zoya’s opinions on many matters. Alina could only pray that Zoya, tense as she sounded in the letter, would not mention anything.

Joining Mal at the window, Alina spotted the entourage pulling up in front of the house. Mal hadn’t bothered to wear anything nice for the occasion—neither of them had—and she straightened his tunic, brushing off invisible lint. She had tossed and turned for the past two nights, and she was feeling the effects now. Mal had barely fared better.

Silently, she took Mal’s hand in hers, squeezing it and tracing her thumb over the callouses of his palm. Then they went out to greet their friends, hand in hand.

“Alina!” Genya was the first one off her horse, leaping from the saddle with the grace that Alina had grown so familiar with and engulfing the shorter woman in a tight embrace of flaming hair and red silk. Next to them, David dismounted and shared a one-armed hug with Mal. 

“It’s good to see you both,” Mal grinned. 

“I have so much to tell you. But first, do you have an extra bed we can borrow?” Genya cast a nervous glance over at the carriage, where Zoya seemed to be arguing with the soldiers. 

“For the soldiers? I don’t know if we have a bed big enough to fit them all,” joked Alina, “there’s an inn down the road, though.”

“No, no. For the Princess. Ehri.”

Alina whirled to look at the carriage, only to find Zoya yanking the gilded door open with far more force than necessary. A pair of polished boots landed neatly on the dirt path, followed by a teal coat. She couldn’t stop her grin from spreading. 

“How’s our favorite king doing?” Alina said. 

“Never better. Handsomer than ever, of course,” he replied, a smirk gracing his face. But he didn’t look at her when he spoke, instead turning back to the carriage and helping someone else out.

“You must be Princess Ehri,” Mal said, extending his hand for her to shake. As Ehri replied with some vague greeting, Alina couldn’t help but look her over. She definitely would never have pinned her as Nikolai’s type, but she had to admit that the elegant Shu princess had her charms. Ehri even possessed the sense to wear sensible flats instead of whatever finery she was used to. However, Alina’s assessment of her was interrupted by a blur of blue and black shoving past Ehri and Nikolai. 

“Come on, there’ll be enough time for greetings and hugs later. Let’s get in the house,” snapped Zoya. Her face was all hard lines and uplifted chin. She slashed a hand through the air, and a gust of wind carried several trunks from the carriage. They followed her as she stalked through the group and yanked the front door of Keramzin open. It slammed in her wake, and the brass knocker that Nikolai had sent them lay askew on its bed of sturdy oak. 

They gazed at the door in stunned silence for a second, and quickly followed after Zoya. 

“Don’t mind her,” Genya whispered to Mal and Alina, “she’s been in an awful mood ever since we left Os Alta. It’s because Ehri insisted on coming with us, I know it.”

“Why?” Mal whispered.

Genya snuck a quick glance at Nikolai. Alina followed suit, and was struck by the lack of the usual glint in his hazel eyes. His brow was furrowed, and he walked several paces ahead of Ehri, who was lagging behind. Nikolai was fiddling with his gloves, black leather sleeves perfectly molded to his hands. 

Since when does Nikolai, of all people, fidget? 

“Zoya doesn’t like Ehri, you genius. I can’t believe you don’t know that,” Genya half-whispered, half-groaned. 

“Who doesn’t like Ehri?” David asked, finally having caught up with them. Genya rolled her eyes. She jutted her chin at the door in front of them with its skewed knocker. The Fabrikator nodded, a knowing look on his face.

“I know you’ve missed me, but there was no need to wait for me to open the door,” came Nikolai’s voice. Alina could tell that he meant for it to come out in a joking manner, but he sounded strained, as if he was dancing somewhere on the line between frustration and jubilation.

There was no response from the four of them. Mal opened the door, and instantly, several children bolted straight for Nikolai, little hands and high-pitched voices clamoring for his attention.

After Nikolai’s first visit to Keramzin, it had turned out that his charm extended to children as well. He doted upon them on the rare occasion that he visited, and they had grown to look forward to the man who would arrive with a carriage-load of gifts. But now, there was a rather apologetic look on his face as he announced that he hadn’t brought anything with him this time. A collective slump went through the children, and some of the younger ones dissipated from the group, but most of them stayed, chatting with the king. 

The only person in the room not mingling with children was Ehri. Alina tore her attention away from a girl who was jabbering away excitedly and saw the vaguely-lost look on Ehri’s face. But before she could direct some children towards her, Nikolai beat her to it. He cleared his throat loudly, waiting for the room’s attention to swivel to him.

“I did, however, bring someone new this time,” Nikolai stage-whispered to them. Heads swiveled, little braids swishing and eyes brightening. 

“It is my great pleasure,” he began, and gestured towards Ehri, “to introduce—“.

“Ehri,” Zoya interjected. The triumphant glint in her eye did not go unnoticed by Alina, and a worried look flashed between her and Genya. “Just Ehri.”

A soft chorus of greetings went around the room. Sonya waved. Marya did a full curtsy, almost tripping, and Nikolai reached out a hand to steady her. She went pink, mumbled something, and stepped back into the crowd of children. 

“Pleasure to meet you. My name is Leonid,” a small voice piped up. He wormed his way to the front, and offered Ehri his hand. Nikolai breathed an obvious sigh of relief.

The tension had been shattered by Leo, and soon, Ehri mingled easily with the children. the rest of the adults disentangled themselves from boisterous voices and little hands, withdrawing upstairs in somber silence.

**Author's Note:**

> Any comments or kudos would be greatly appreciated! I'm still relatively new to writing fanfiction, and I'd love to hear what you guys think.


End file.
